


Scattering Rosebuds

by SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash



Series: Segmented (A Collection of Spideychelle One-shots) [9]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16091327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash/pseuds/SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash
Summary: Sometimes, you need to figure out whether it's time to gather your rosebuds or scatter them.





	Scattering Rosebuds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renaissancepalette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissancepalette/gifts).



> //Thanks to @spideychellevalor for the Tumblr prompt! Feel free to drop by my Tumblr and leave one.

“MJ, wait!”

Peter’s plea carries through the hotel lobby, loud enough to turn heads as he rushes after her form. Her skirts swish furiously as she walks away from him, but just for a moment, her step falters. That moment is enough to propel him forward through the busy lobby, a few feet closer to her than he was before. Peter narrowly dodges a luggage cart and ignores the cursing that his super senses zero in on, forging his way forward. Maybe if he says her name just one last time…

People are staring now, and MJ stops dead in her tracks a few feet ahead of him. Peter stops, too, but his gaze does not leave the messy ponytail that he’s observed for years in his classes, the one that belongs to the most intelligent person Peter has ever met. It’s the one that he spent the entire bus ride watching, the one he was finally brave enough to approach. It’s the mess of curls that bobbed as she looked up from her poetry, that framed her face and the reddened tips of her ears as she said yes. 

“Please, MJ!"

For a moment, she does not move. Peter watches as the tall, slender form crosses her arms, tugging her jacket tighter around herself like some sort of security blanket. Then, just when Peter thinks that she’s going to start walking again, MJ turns around. 

The look on her face is enough to send a physically painful twinge through Peter’s chest. Her face is stony, a mask of glassy eyes and faraway stares. She does not look at him, but rather at a point past his ear and over his shoulder. Maybe, a few months ago, Peter would have wondered if this was her using some sort of intimidation tactic.

Now, he knows that she’s not looking at him because she thinks she’ll fall apart if she does. 

“What do you want?” she asks. Her voice is quiet and taut, as impassive as her face. However, there is a slight, almost imperceptible waver as she says his last name, one that causes him to wince. 

“I-I…” Peter stammers, suddenly unable to string two words together. “I, um… I didn’t think I’d get this far with you.” 

“Goodnight, Parker.” 

MJ has turned by the time his words leave in a strangled gasp. “N-no, wait!” She freezes, but she does not turn away. Part of Peter wonders if she wants him to give her a reason to stay. 

Peter stops trying to gather all of his thoughts at once, and instead he focuses all of his energy on taking a first step in the right direction. “Can we talk?” 

Her shoulders stiffen, and she squares them in a moment of dreadful silence. Finally, she mutters, “Fine.” Then she is walking again, and all Peter has left to do is to follow. 

MJ continues down the hall of the hotel, away from prying eyes and listening ears. She follows the twist and turn of the hallways until Peter’s senses focus in on the scent of chlorine… The pool. Sure enough, the glass doors come into view, and through them Peter can see the tiled floor and the deep blue of the pool. 

They had planned to go for a swim with the others that night… But that was before it all happened. That was before Peter’s first run-in with Chameleon, before Peter had willingly followed him to the bridge, straight into an ambush. But he hadn’t known he was following Chameleon. 

He had thought he was following her, this girl that he somehow knows that he would follow to the ends of the earth. 

When they reach the doors of the pool, she turns so abruptly that Peter almost runs straight into her. He leaps back, struggling to catch his breath as he finds himself little more than inches away from her. She is looking down at him, and for the first time he realizes what is so off about her stony gaze. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t hide the little, hurting gleam that reflects in her warm irises now. 

Peter struggles for words as he looks up at her, overwhelmed by the scent of chlorine mingling with her citrus shampoo. Where should he begin? Should he start with the colorful array of bruises blossoming beneath his clothing, the cut on his arm that he knows will bleed through his shirt if he doesn’t tend to it soon? Or maybe with the Internship, with the Spider-Man. Maybe if he confides in her, shows this one little piece of trust, she’ll understand. Maybe she can even help him puzzle through it all, to understand the new information that’s spinning in his head at this very moment. But he doesn’t get to start anywhere, because she starts first. 

“You stood me up, Parker.” The words drop like hammers, each one heavier than the last. They are tight, constricted, leaving no room for emotion. Somehow, it’s worse than if she was screaming.

MJ still doesn’t look at him as she continues. “I mean, I guess I get it. I’m not your type. You fall for girls like Liz, girls who are gorgeous and sweet and all honey and sugar. Those types of girls don’t get left alone, in the middle of a damn carnival. I get I’m not your type, and I was fine with it. At least I thought I was.” 

Peter’s eyes widen, and for a moment he is staring at her, shell-shocked. Then his mind screams at him to say something, anything. “I-What? N-no, MJ, it’s not like that at all! You’re _definitely_ my type, you’re… You’re incredible! I didn’t mean to stand you up, MJ, I-” 

“I don’t need excuses anymore. I’m not what you ever planned on, and I get it. You don’t need to deny it.” Her words are final, and when she finally meets his eye, he draws in a sharp breath. The brown eyes that are locked on his are so soulful, filled with experiences and pains that he wants to understand. They are also filled with hurt, raw and rough and real in so many ways. 

“MJ… I’m not trying to make excuses, I’m trying to explain myself,” he whispers, his voice aching in the back of his throat. “I just need you to give me a chance.”

“Parker, I’ve waited… Way longer than I ever wanted to admit to you.” Her brow is furrowed now, knit over those injured eyes in a way that reminds him of the way she looks at her book. It’s a look of trying, of attempting to understand and explain and connect all at once. “I’ve waited years for this, and I think a part of you knows that. I think a part of you thinks that a little more waiting won’t hurt me, that I have the time to wait around for you to be as serious about this as I am. And maybe I have the time, but I’m not willing to spend it.” 

Her final statement causes her voice to break, a ragged and broken sound that forces any thought of explanation and reparation from his mind. All he can think about is the way that he put that there, the crack in the girl that has always seemed so unbreakable to him.

 And now, part of him wonders if she’s just as right as she is broken.

For a moment, the silence stretches between them, and she draws in a breath and looks away. It’s as if he’s confirming it. “I was there… By myself, Parker. I was waiting for you.” 

“I know.” 

“And you didn’t come.” “

I… I know.” 

The silence lingers for another moment, a moment in which she steps away from him. Finally, she raises her gaze to his again. Somehow, this is more painful than her previous hurt stare, because it’s reserved. He is watching as she builds her walls again, the ones he had to work so hard to tear down. 

“Maybe I have the time to spend on you, Peter. But that doesn’t mean you get to spend it for me.” 

With that, MJ turns, and she brushes past him. Her lemon shampoo overwhelms his senses, and her hand brushes his in a way that makes his heart ache. A pang of desperation shoots through him, and he quickly turns to catch her wrist in a light grasp. 

“Wait… Please. Don’t leave me.” 

His words don’t sound like his own. They are breathy and slightly wobbly, and each syllable feels like a knife in the back of his throat. “I need you to let me explain.” For a moment, she pauses, and he drinks in their proximity. 

He is inches from her neck, from the soft place where her ringlets meet smooth skin. It’s a place that he can imagine brushing with a gentle hand, maybe even pressing a kiss. He had that chance, only a few hours ago… A chance to explore her mind and her company. And now, it’s inches away from being another thing that Spider-Man has stolen from him. 

Unless she chooses to stay. 

“‘Gather ye rosebuds,’ remember?” His words are a plea, one last question. It’s a line from the poem she was reading on the school tour bus, the one he asked about before she agreed to meet him at the carnival. It’s the reason she took a chance, and now he needs her to take another one. 

Her breath catches in her throat, and for a moment Peter thinks she is going to look at him. Then, she slowly turns her head away from him. “Sorry, Parker,” she murmurs, tugging her wrist back from him. He lets it slide through his fingers as a dazed breath escapes him. Peter can feel every last ounce of hope crumble, each one toppled by one of her syllables. 

“But I think maybe it’s time to scatter them.” 


End file.
